STICK IT ON THE FRIDGE MATERIAL

I wrote this some time ago, inspired by all that is around me and keep forgetting it. Found it while organizing my computer so I decided to share.

MY PURPOSE IN LIFE:

• Celebrate life by means of self-radical love
• Celebrate life and all its little wonders, creative projects, literary holidays and all that there is to celebrate (spread the idea)
• Involve as many people as possible (the more the merrier) 
• 'Ladies club'-as my calling (share the knowledge)
• Be a part of the Book Club 

HOW TO GO ON ABOUT IT:

• Make this to be my life's goal
• An adventure of balancing everything
• Strive to make deadlines
• Be more organized, honer the 'to do' lists
• Involve people who are interested and willing
• Connect people
• Cook, eat, enjoy, entertain
• Travel
• Make time for everyone

THINGS:

• Write when inspired
• Read everyday
• Make friends gathering when making DIY crafts 
• Make an event out of literary holidays and other celebrations
• Making of the extraordinary
• Feed the soul
• Surround myself with interesting, inspiring people
• Colours and smiles
• Make this a priority-organize-think ahead-plan better and stay true

MANIFESTO:

Solely look at the positive, never dwell on the negative.

Celebrate all the gorgeous moments. Bring colour to life.

First love yourself as that is the only way to love another.

Threat people with kindness. Be the friend you'd want to have.

Live everyday in a way you'd be proud to show it to the universe.

Listen to your body, get enough nutrition, sleep and exercise.

Always stay hungry for knowledge. Forever learn.

Read everyday, write when inspired or in need of emptying the skull.

Draw even when you don't feel like drawing.

Go to picnics, cinema, outgoings, meet new people, break the routine of daily life.

Do creative projects, DIY crafts, the feeling of accomplishment is always rewarding.

Share your knowledge.

Involve people in your ideas.

Give back to the community, get to know your neighbors.

Live like an artist and a lover.

Be organized. 

THOUGHTS UNSAID CAN BE FORGOTTEN

Do you think hard about life? How? When? WHY? Would you leave? Would you leave only if for the better or in silence? When you realize that you are lonely are you sad, or do you welcome solitude? For how long can you sit with your own pain and not move to fix it? Do you believe it is going to get better? Or is the dream long forgotten? Do you think life is a game and the only winning move is not to play-or this angers you? Do you think clever is wise?

How do you feel about truth? How do you feel about words? Can they shred you insides? What about time? Does time mean anything to you? Do you worship your Gods only on a Sunday or on any given day? How's that working for you? Or do you like a bit of disaster? And all the colors that come into focus then, or do you think you can learn from happiness?

When you think about love, how far do you think? Does that leave you sad, nostalgic, longing, wishing? Do you hurt? Are you scared if what little you are ready to share? Ashamed of how little you've got a give? Are you capable of patience? Would you allow someone to change you?

Are you happy, have you been eating poetry? Do you stand up to celebrate? Can you explain it?

Are you ready for tomorrow?

A GHOST THAT WALKS AND TALKS

Why do I keep good intentions as my most valuable secrets? Stashed deep deep deep under all the colours, under all the make up. A different person in the mirror and a different person in rest of the liars eyes. To which reflection shall I invest my beliefs? Beliefs that I am not lazy, that I can be consistent, that my ideas last and that one day I'll reach and get there when my mum doesn't see it, she knows me best.

Somehow I must have deserved this love of mine or will I have to make amends for what I've got. Life is a tricky business, makes you pay at the end.

Thinking that I should volunteer my time, to him, my friends and parents, get to know my neighbours, participate and be a part of my community whatever side of the world I am, be more considerate of others needs and more sympathetic to others feelings makes me believe that, yes, there is an angel in me that he sees. But I forget this things. Too easily.

He sent me to buy myself coffee, so I did, and came back to the car. Only then did I remember, he likes his tea in the morning. I didn't even ask if he liked some, I didn't buy it for him, and surprised him, showed him that I do think of him too. No, I forgot. Hows that for being the worst person in the world?

I do envy people to whom comes naturally to care for the others, but then I wish, usher them, to be more selfish. While I am too busy having a good day to be concerned for the happy ending. Its nice to be nice, to be kind-confusing me.

Those kept good intentions make me proud on my own, SELFISH. Just how lucky I must be that I've got him to see the good in me, make me a better person, wanting to be the best for him.

I need be better and I can choose that every morning. Keep my promises anyway. It's that easy-I must remember.

I AM THE AUTHOR?

Who holds a pan? I do!

I'm the author of my life and I choose this world to be my altar. Forever straggling to stay on it with my both feet, extracting confidence from within and be bold at the same time. Being creative in my fun, not caring if I look ridiculous, must learn to love a fool in me. Let my soul be free even when I feel tinni tiny, so tiny, anyone one can fit me in a pocket and take me where I don't choose to go. But I must keep fighting for my integrity and stay true through all the endings, hoping some of them will be disguised in new beginnings.

Constantly waiting in fear I missed something. A sign, a joke, a dream forgotten. I write in fear of forgetting, so one day I'll convince myself I held the pan, I had control over what was meant to be. When I only write of happy days, praying the bad and ugly won't matter in so many years and will be safe under the carpet that I nailed to the floor.

It is a fountain pan I am holding. Curving my 'g's' and 'y's' beautifully. Like love, ink isn't endless. Having to choose what to make last till the end of time, making me nervous. Questioning how important is the now? Very? Wait for the next now. Maybe I am just greedy? Reminding myself that expectations and assumptions are the thief of joy. Making sure to count my blessings.

Remember, remember, remember. Isn't that living in the past? Or just a search of what was it, and it was good. Does it matter at all? Yes, it does, in my books, in my diary.

Sitting on the end of the world, to be quite exact, the second southest point, deep into the ocean, that I turned my back to, ignoring the wave swellings, they don't mean anything to me, yet. And still wondering who is holding the pan?

All the things that I believe never fail to amaze me and that is why I think I'm ill.